Voice of an angel
by RedJoker
Summary: A little 3+4...contains:fluff,weirdness,a bit of philosophy,a painter Trowa and a Quatre who isn't an angel.


Disclaimer:I don't own GundamWing or any of the characters.None of the poetry are mine and belong to their rightful owners.This story was created merely for entertainment purposes. *your feedback is much appreciated since this is my first attempt in writing a gundam fanfiction.Thanks for taking time and reading this. 

Warnings:Mild yaoi,Au,unusal weirdness and sap

  
  


Voice of an Angel

By:Red Joker 

He put his poetry book down.They were so close tonight,he could almost hear them singing.Joy and pain filled his chest and what he sensed was love.Tears began to fall and left a trail of stars on his cheek.Was he ready for this love? He wondered, love something more magnificent and divine that a human chest could bear.Now here in his room were this angels singing to him and embracing him with their look and their invisible touches.The end was near and he, after playing between a thousand lifetimes was ready to go.He knew he still breathed and that he had found his angels after an eternity again.Their circle got tighter around him.A gentle breeze caressed their black robes and gold and silver wings.They lifted him,their voices shattered the glassy silence and they vanished.All that was left of them was the footprints of angels on the black canvas that a painter had waited so long to carve the dreams of paradise on.Quatre was gone. 

Trowa entered the dim studio."So he is finally free."he said out loud.His room had came to life.Every where he looked where valleys of darkness and forgotten dreams lying around and Visions of eternity he didn't even remembered.His room was painted with shadows of laughter and pain and all that mankind had experienced since creation.Over there was Quatre's bed,a wild white rose.His studio had become a portrait of universe.So this is the revelation of Quatre's soul.It was so beautiful it made his entire being ache.A sweet pain surged through him,exploding in his every cell.It was something brighter than sunlight,taller than all the ladders that lead to the stars and deeper than all the oceans. He remembered what Quatre had said once. "Our echoes roll from soul to soul and grow forever and ever."He now understood it.The echoes of the world's souls and all the silences ever heard were here in his chest,filling his ears.It was as if Quatre had never left because all the springs that ever were and ever would be were in this room.Why if he was gone he could still hear the sound of each flower blossoming,the sound of each nightingale sleeping and feel the warmness as each a drop of dew evaporated and left a leaf naked.Why if Quatre was dead the ship of dreams sailed to his room and fairies wrapped him in their wings and drowned him into deep and sweet slumber.Trowa didn't belong in Quatre's world of grace and magic.He had seen the birds chirping softly to wake Quatre up and when he did he would go to them.He would rescue the butterflies fallen in water while the moon beamed shyly down at him.

They were born at the same time,Trowa from soil and Quatre from the air.That's what made himQuatre so unreachable and far away like a thought coming from nowhere.Trowa lived in silence all those years and Quatre soared the skies on his wings in search of him and their souls finally touched one day.They began their journey.That day Trowa began painting the visions of paradise and Quatre searched for his long lost angles in Trowa's paintings.They would vanish into Trowa's paintings for hours but they never heard an angel singing and Quatre began reaching for something above his mortal existence.That's how he found them and took off on his wings and flee.He was never one dimensional, he never saw the world like how he was taught to see it.He took Trowa's hands and showed him how to let his senses wander and feel the world's being.And it was Trowa who taught Quatre how to fly. 

Trowa's eyes snapped open.He grabbed his brush and soaked it in debris of Quatre's soul and the voice of his angels then added the final touch to the Black canvas.Their voices cast their spell on him.He opened the black sketch books where Quatre wrote poetry in. 

"Here tonight I tightly hold you 

And enfold you while you sleep; 

Why,I wonder,are you smiling, 

Smiling in your slumber deep? 

Are the angels on you smiling 

And beguiling you with charm,

While you smile my blossom 

In my bosom soft and warm? " 

Trowa looked out of the window. There was a crack in the wall and he could see Quatre's footsteps.The voices were calling him... 

  
  



End file.
